


My Next 150 Years

by Witchy1ness



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Slight politics, because we're stuck with each other, can't go wrong with breakfast poutine, from a serially procrastinating but proud Canadian, happy 150 years Canada!, now with bilingual cursing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: A day after Canada Day 2017 fic. Alfred comes over to see how Matthew's been handling the big 1-5-0. Because you never outgrow sibling rivalry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hetalia and all recognizable characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, I'm just borrowing them. Again :)
> 
> Title inspired by Tim McGraw's song, "My Next Thirty Years".  
>  
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.

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Countries did not get hung-over.

Sure, they could drink and enjoy alcohol, but it took so much of it to even induce tipsiness that most countries didn’t want to bother forking out the amounts of cash required to get to the point where hangover effects happened.

Which meant there had to be some _other_ explanation for why Matthew’s head felt like every member of every Indigenous tribe left in his borders had decided to hold a powwow at the same time.

He cringed shamefully at the thought. Celebrating his 150th birthday had not been a joyous occasion for everyone, and Canada promised himself that as soon as he could function again, he’d have another talk with Trudeau.

Conscience temporarily appeased, he sagged back into bed. Fortunately his birthday landed on a Saturday this year, which meant he had two whole days to recover from…..whatever it was he’d done.

_Ugh. Or maybe it wasn’t so much how much **I** drank? Pretty sure there was a sea of alcohol flowing from coast-to-coast this weekend…._

There were vague images of England and France, either wrestling or – _oh not going there_ – and Prussia trying to burn down an igloo? And America had been doing….something…with a moose….

Matthew dozed, suspended in that twilight area of not-quite-asleep as disjointed memories floated behind his aching eyes.

He was abruptly catapulted out of his semi-slumbering state when his bedroom door slammed open hard enough to embed the doorknob into the wall – if he hadn’t already taken the precaution of putting a bumper plate on the wall due to this being a reoccurring event.

“DUDE! Are you still sleeping?!”

“Go _away_ , Alfred,” Matthew moaned as he pulled the covers over his head and curled into a tight little ball.

The only warning he got was a loud snort before the (not inconsiderable) weight of the good ol’ U S of A landed on top of him hard enough to make him yelp.

“ _Tabernac!_ Alfred get _off_!”

The next few minutes were a mess as his yelp was quickly echoed by Alfred, and suddenly limbs were flailing everywhere.

“Dude your dog _bit_ me!”

“He’s not a dog, he’s a polar bear,” Matthew retorted as Kumajo stalked across him, the cub grumbling as he jumped off the bed. “And you’re not even bleeding.”

Alfred just laughed as he slid off the country to sprawl across the rest of the queen-sized bed. “Damn Mattie, it’s a good thing the Frenchies couldn’t hear you say that word.”

Matthew wriggled his head free of the covers to glare near-sightedly at his brother. “ _What_ do you _want_?”

Alfred pouted, but the northern country wasn’t moved, and the pout changed to a grimace as he tucked his arms behind his head and got comfortable. “Can’t a big brother come and hang out with his little brother without wanting anything?”

Matthew sighed as he reached for his glasses, resting his chin on a hand as he studied America. “You’re not the older brother,” he retorted automatically, picking up the thread of a _very_ long-running argument. “And they can,” he added dryly, “but you usually can’t. What is it now?”

Alfred beamed, “I wanted to see how you were doing, now that you're all of a hundwed an' fiffy years old, you lil cutie you!" Matthew batted away Alfred's hands as the other nation tried to pinch his cheeks, nose crinkling in disgust at the baby-talk.

"Shut up," he muttered, "you're only officially ninety-one years older anyway, so there."

Being the more mature one, he settled for sticking his tongue out.

Never one to take the high road, Alfred also stuck his tongue out _and_ crossed his eyes.

"I learned about you, you know," he said, out of the blue.

Matthew blinked, waited a beat, and when it was apparent Alfred wasn’t going to continue, prodded, “You learned….what, about me?”

Alfred rolled his eyes, and the look of long-suffering patience that appeared on his face made Matthew want to hit him. “No, dude. I learned about _you_ ,” he emphasized, using one hand to wave in his brother’s vicinity.

“Repeating yourself doesn’t make it any clearer, sorry,” he said with remarkable patience, given the migraine hovering behind his eyes.

“I….learned….about…..you….” Alfred slowly repeated, and Matthew was _definitely_ going to hit him, Canadian politeness not-withstanding, but he continued, “I went to some of the celebrations; a lot of the celebrations, actually. One in every province!”

Matthew felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. “You…went to _my_ celebrations?”

At his brother’s beaming nod he felt the need to clarify. “You went to my celebrations…and _learned_ things?”

Another nod.

“That settles it,” Matthew nodded decisively, “I’m still drunk, and you’re not real.”

He burrowed back under the blankets, hoping another few hours of sleep would be all that was required to deal with the startlingly real hallucination and attendant side effects.

“Dude, what! I am so _totally_ real!”

“Not real,” Matthew’s muffled voice filtered out from under the blankets. “ _No way_ would America bother learning about me.”

“ _Yes_ real!” the surprisingly strong hallucination insisted, as he tried to yank the blankets away.

“Not real,” Matthew rebutted.

“ _Yes real_! Could I have even made breakfast if I wasn’t real?”

Matthew let go of the blankets as he sat up, causing the apparently-real America to land on his ass on the far side of the bed.

Crawling over to the sound of cursing, Matthew popped his head over the side, coming face-to-face with his grumpily glaring brother nation.

“What _kind_ of breakfast?” Because he wasn't naïve enough - any more - to trust statements like that without asking for clarification.

The grumpy look was immediately replaced with Alfred’s typical brilliant grin.

“Loaded French fries!”

Matthew’s immediate refusal halted as his mind translated ‘American’ to ‘what everyone else calls it’. “You mean poutine? You made a breakfast poutine?”

Alfred bounced up. “Yeah! With fries and gravy and cheese and eggs and _everything_!”

Matthew’s stomach rumbled.

“And you couldn’t have lead with that?” he grumbled in exasperation as he crawled out of the bed and began hunting for his slippers, ignoring Alfred’s snickers at his maple-leaf patterned pajamas.

He found them under the bed, but going by Kumakou’s disgruntled expression and visible bite marks, wisely decided to leave them be. Straightening up he muttered another curse as several more body parts chose to voice their complaints.

“I’m totally going to get you back for that body slam,” he muttered, wincing as a deep breath pulled something in his side. “ _Ow_.”

Alfred scoffed, “Dude you’re _fine_. Now come on, food’s getting cold.”

Matthew followed the other nation down the stairs, not even bothering to hide his fond smile as his brother loudly enthused about all the things he’d gone to.

Not a bad way to spend an after-birthday day, after all.

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	2. Chapter 2

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Matthew pushed back from the table with a sigh, “That was actually really good Alfred, thank you.”

“Told ya,” Alfred retorted, shoveling the last of his fourth – or was it fifth? – helping into his mouth. His little brother really needed to learn to trust him a little more. “So anyway, now I’ve learned absolutely _everything_ there is to know about you!”

“Absolutely everything, eh?”

Alfred mock-frowned at the clearly teasing tone of the other nation.

“Absolutely everything!” he reiterated adamantly. “I even managed to get to at least one event in all ten of your not-states!”

Matthew choked on his coffee.

Alfred wasn’t sure what about what he’d said caused the choking fit – he knew Mattie had provinces, obviously, but it was too much fun needling the other nation – but he solicitously pounded his brother’s back anyway until Matthew waved him off.

“Mattie? You okay dude?”

“Just, um, hang on,” he croaked, leaving Alfred to blink after him in confusion as he left the kitchen. He came back in just as Alfred finished dumping the dirty dishes in the sink.

“Could you….fill this out for me? Please?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow as he eyed the piece of paper Matthew had put on the kitchen table. “You want _me_ to do your paperwork?” he asked skeptically.

Really, the full-body shudder was overkill, Alfred huffed to himself as he grabbed the pen held out to him and narrowed his eyes at the paper.

“A map? Oh!” Alfred goggled at the other nation. “Dude! Are you giving me land?!”

Mattie hit pretty damn hard for a pacifist, Alfred thought, rubbing his aching skull.

“Just…fill in the province and territory names, please; since you know _absolutely everything_ about me.”

As expected, Alfred couldn’t turn down a challenge, and a few minutes of furious scribbling later, pushed the paper back across the table to his brother, grinning hugely.

“Done! That wasn’t hard at all!”

He hadn’t realized how loudly the clock in Mattie’s kitchen ticked, but it seemed to echo in the ominous silence.

“Mattie?”

The subsequent wrestling match was so loud Matthew’s neighbours called the cops, which Alfred found absolutely hysterical (it wasn’t like he _couldn’t_ get out of the Boston Crab by himself, but hey, it made the cops feel useful) up until he tried to get back in the house after seeing the officers off.

“Mattie?” he banged on the door, rattling the suspiciously locked knob. “Hey Mattie, open up!”

“Not until you say I won the War of 1812!”

Matthew grinned at the horrendous choking noises emanating from the other side of his front door.

_“Never!”_

Moving away, he began to whistle tunelessly. Sooner or later Alfred would remember there was a back door, and Matthew was going to plant himself in front of it.

Eating Kinder Surprise eggs.

And wearing his Olympic gold hockey medals.

Canada cackled.

_Best after-birthday day ever._

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This entire chapter inspired by [this hilarious Buzzfeed article](https://www.buzzfeed.com/tanyachen/americans-fail-canada-again?utm_term=.aiJDgQDVX#.qy4dl3doD%20%20) (old but still hilarious). To be fair, if you gave me a map of America and asked me to label the States.....it'd probably be a very similar result.


	3. The Map of Contention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America Labels Canada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friend KiddoAP1 for filling in for America :)
> 
> Map taken from http://thempfa.org/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
